


Healing

by fallingleaves



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pain, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 10:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10488474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingleaves/pseuds/fallingleaves
Summary: They still don't have speedster painkillers, and Iris has watched Barry go through a lot of pain.





	

 

            It’s hard to watch him.  When Iris first found out he was the Flash, and he was lying on a medical bed, hooked up to so many wires, bloody and broken, her body had run cold and she’d felt frozen, then suddenly faint.  And it didn’t matter how many times Cisco and Caitlin assured her that he healed fast, that he’d had worse, it didn’t help.  She sat by his side and held his hand and waited for him to wake up, in the worst kind of familiarity, images of him in the coma a constant cycle.  She though that she would feel better once he woke up, but then his eyes flickered, and it only took a few moments for pain to spread across his face.  There was an awful, heart breaking moment where it shone completely clear in his expression, how he was fighting against consciousness, how the pain was taking over rapidly, and his eyes opened, and they were worse.  A single gasp escaped his mouth, and Iris squeezed his hand and wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say.  Then his eyes focused on her, and suddenly he was forcing his expression under control, forcing the tenseness out of his limbs, forcing it all down, masking the pain.

            It doesn’t shock her like it used to.  She’s used to the medical equipment, used to blood, used to seeing Barry lying on the medical beds, face turned away, eyes squeezed shut.  It’s still hard to watch him in pain, but she thinks it’s getting easier, and that almost makes it worse.  When he cries now, it doesn’t startle her.  She just wipes tears away and relays the same reassurances over and over again, time after time.  He says it helps, but she’s not sure it really can.  It doesn’t stop being gut-wrenching or heartbreaking to watch him in pain, doesn’t stop her from feeling helpless when he is so clearly in pain, when she can see him coming to the end of his rope.

            It’s a miracle he makes it to the labs this time.  He collapses the second he’s there, and Cisco and Wally help him up and to a bed.  He’s bleeding, but Iris can’t see where at first.  There’s the same flash of panic, but it settles once she sees Caitlin moving around him.  It’s not life threatening.  Caitlin is too calm for that.  There’s always a flurried air when something’s serious – she’s still calm, steady, much calmer than Iris ever could be, but there’s a franticness to it that is absent now.  He’ll be OK. 

            Iris walks to his side in quick, rapid steps, following them.  She takes his hand once they’re inside, and finally sees that he’s bleeding from his side.  Caitlin has already opened the suit.

            It is a bloody gash oozing red and Iris doesn’t even flinch at it.  She just cringes, and looks back at Barry, because she knows it means he’ll be in pain, and it won’t be fun to fix.

            “You’re OK,” she says.  It’s a staple phrase that helps her as much as Barry, one of the ones that plays on repeat in her head and finds its way to her mouth in these situations.  She can still remember when Barry broke one leg badly, and it required surgery to fix.  She can still hear his voice.  _Stop, stop, please, I can’t – I can’t do this, stop._   And Caitlin’s steady voice and Iris _you’re OK, you’re OK, baby, it’s OK, it’s going to be OK_ and _no, I’m not, I’m not, stop, please, stop, please, I can’t._  

            Barry just closes his eyes, squeezed shut.

            “Barry, it’s going to need some stitches,” Caitlin says, and Barry squeezes down on her hand.

            “It’s OK,” Iris says, and she runs her free hand through his hair.  “It’s OK.”

            He’s hyperventilating, starting to hyperventilate.  It’s affecting him more and more.  He’s scared.  It didn’t use to scare him, but now he knows.  Now he knows how much it’s going to hurt.  Before it was just that vague bravery, a childish bravery, _it can’t be that bad._   He knows better now, and Iris has taken up the mantel, repeating the same fairy tale.  He says it still helps.  Iris isn’t sure she believes him, but she has nothing else to say, so she keeps going anyway.

            Caitlin places the first stitch.  Neither of them watch.  Iris doesn’t get sick from it anymore, but Barry does.  He’ll throw up if he watches, and it seems to heighten the pain, and Iris looks at him, because if he decides to open his eyes she’ll be right there, right there waiting.

            He tenses up, lets out a single whimper.  Caitlin stitches methodically.

            “It’s alright,” Iris says, “it’s not too big.  It’ll be done soon.  You’re doing great.”  He’s heard the phrases before, dozens of times.  She keeps stroking his hair, and it helps to distract him a little.

            His body keeps growing tenser though.  The pain mounts.  Iris can feel it grow almost as well as he can – she knows all the signs by now, an expert in watching pain.  His mouth tightens, then opens as he starts gasping in air.  His hand clenches tighter and tighter in hers.  His knees bend just slightly.  And a million tiny muscles contract in his face, one by one, more and more.  He opens his eyes and looks at her like asking for help.

            “She’s already halfway done,” she says, “it’s already halfway done, Barr.  You’re OK.”

            _You will be OK.  You will survive this.  We’ll go home and you’ll be quiet for a while, and when you’re ready you’ll shake and cry and I’ll hold you.  Then we’ll watch a movie and eat ice cream and you’ll sleep well, next to me.  I love you.  You will be OK.  You will be OK, this will not last forever._

            She doesn’t know how to articulate this, how to articulate how she gets through these moments, where everything slows and she can see him in pain and it is killing her – she doesn’t know how to explain that the moments afterwards, in which he breaks down and relives the stress of the procedures are exactly what get her through the next operation.  She knows he is human.  Humans hurt, but humans heal.  He will heal.  His heart and mind were remarkable long before his body was.  They will heal him just as superspeed will heal his broken bones and torn skin.

            “She’s almost done,” she says again, because it is as close as she can get, “you’re doing great.”

            Another minute and a tear slips down his face.  She has seen the water collecting there for a while now. 

            “It hurts,” he says, and it comes out like a prayer, like Iris is his Goddess and by some divine power she can somehow make it all go away.  She wonders if that’s faith or desperation, if the two really aren’t the same sometimes.

            “I know,” she says, because she is no goddess, she is not a superhero, she can only hold his hand and stroke his hair and wipe away his tears and hope it somehow makes a difference.  “I know it hurts, baby.  It’s almost done.  You’re almost through it.”

            She tries to smile.  Another tear slides down his face, and the gasping he’s been doing becomes more ragged.  His body starts to shake, and Cisco places a hand on Barry’s hip to help steady it for Caitlin.

            “Breath, Barr,” Iris says, because she read that deep breaths can reduce pain, that hyperventilating can heighten it.  They’ve practiced, hands on their stomachs, breathing from their diaphragms, in tension filled silence in their apartment, when they were both thinking breathing techniques were a poor substitute for anesthetics.  “It’s OK,” Iris says, and she tries to sound soothing and not tired, tries to sound calming and not pained.  “Try to breathe a little slower, baby.  It’ll help.”

            His breathing goes from gasping and ragged to gasping and drawn out.  It is not much of an improvement, but Iris can hear the beginnings of sobs with every breath.

            “ _It h-hurts_ ,” he says again, this time quieter, almost to himself.  His eyes are shut again.  Iris thinks her temple has crumbled, his Goddess has not answered and he has given up praying.

            “Just a bit more now, Barry,” Caitlin says.

            “Almost done, Barr,” Iris says.

            It takes another few moments and then Barry is shaking his head suddenly, like an elastic pulled back, finally snapped, all that energy erupting.

            “No, stop, Cait, I – I need a break.  I need a break.”

            He leans upwards, looking up at her, chancing a look down at the cut.  His eyes jolt back to her face quickly, pleading.

            “I’m sorry, Barry, you’re healing too fast.  I need to get these finished now.”

            Barry’s head falls with a thud back onto the bed.  He squeezed his eyes, his hand clenches tighter in Iris’s hand and his face is red.  He wants to scream.  She can tell.  Anger or pain or fear, she’s not so sure.  Tears leak down both sides of his face and his jaw is clenched tightly, mouth a thin line.

            “It’ll stop soon,” Iris says, “you’ll get a break soon anyway, Barry.  It’s almost done.  Caitlin’s almost done.”

            “I wanna stop,” he says, and it’s quiet again, but somewhere in the middle.  He is talking to Iris, not a Goddess and not just his own silence.  She hopes she can be enough.

            “I know,” she says, “I’m here.  It’s OK.  It’s gonna stop soon.”

            Caitlin keeps going, and he cries silently, then starts gasping again.  The last few stitches draw a couple of half-choked sobs from him.  His face is red and blotchy, wet.  Iris keeps talking to him, and the whole room is a tightrope walker, balancing and looking down.  Iris doesn’t want to have to help restrain him.  She doesn’t want to see him struggle and scream and finally beg.  She doesn’t want to see Cisco and Wally wrestle restraints over his wrists.  She doesn’t want to have to listen to him ask them why they’re doing this to him, to tell them he just can’t do it, he can’t.  She doesn’t want to see him break apart, even if she knows he has glued himself back together a dozen times over already.  He will do it dozens of times more.

            “It’s done,” Caitlin says finally, “it’s all done.”

            Barry breathes.  His eyes closed, he says nothing, but the tension leaks from his body like the blood leaking from his skin.  Caitlin wraps up his side.  She wants him to stay, he’ll need the stitches taken out in just a few hours, and he’s so obviously about to fall asleep anyway, but he insists on going home, and Iris knows how to take stitches out.

            They go home.  He’s quiet.  He’s exhausted.  Iris drives, and Iris unlocks the door when they get there.  She walks with him to the couch, waits until he sits down.  He’s started to come back to her.  He’s smiling again, a weak, half-fake smile.  Not the kind that’s lying, the kind that’s pretending, the kind of smile he smiles because he wants this to be done, wants to pretend it didn’t happen, wants to go back to normal.  She gets him a drink, asks him if he’s hungry, but he’s not.  She sits down next to him, and he takes her hand and just holds it, like he still needs the reassurance.

            She puts a movie on.  Barry falls asleep in the first half hour.  He wakes up when she gets up to make some dinner – if not for Barry, then for herself.  He follows her into the kitchen and takes a seat at the island.

            He is not smiling anymore.  His fingers reach for the bandage under his shirt, but just hover there instead.  When she finishes making food he picks at his.  She tells him about her day, about the lead she’s following.  He listens, but it looks like it’s a challenge for him.  She is halfway through telling him about Linda’s last article when his eyes start to slide away and suddenly she stops.

            “Barry,” she says, “it’s OK.”

            He looks at her again, wipes a hand over his face, and tries to smile.  “I know,” he says.

            She waits a moment, then moves around the kitchen table over to him.  She places a hand carefully over his side and he just barely keeps from flinching.

            “How does it feel?”

            “It’s… it’s not healed all the way yet.”

            That is not an answer.  She wants to tell him this.  At any other time she would say so, would say so in a sarcastic manner, but she just nods.  Somehow he has trouble saying it hurts unless the pain is unbearable.  She wants to tell him that his pain is valid no matter what level it is.  Just because it’s not catastrophic anymore doesn’t mean it’s insignificant.

            “I’m sorry it still hurts,” she says.

            He nods.  His eyes flick to her hand, he hesitates, and then he reaches for her hand again, but she meets him halfway anyway. 

            “It’s OK,” she says, and she hopes he knows what she means.  “I’m here.”

            “I… I don’t feel good,” he mumbles.  He looks up at her, and his eyes are sad and scared.

            She nods slowly.  “Do you want to go lie down?”

            He shakes his head, and his hands start to tremble.  He takes them back from her for a moment, his shoulders shrink in, and then he shakes his head and reaches for her hand again, grasping tightly.

            “Shh,” she says, even though he hasn’t said anything, and she hugs him, and his arms wrap around her like she is a life preserver and he is a breath away from drowning.  “It’s OK,” she says, and she rubs his back.  She can’t rub his back when he’s lying on the medical bed.  She always wants to.  It calms him better than anything.

            He starts to cry.  The sobs come out now instead, and he is just Barry and she is just Iris, and that is fine.

            “It hurt so much,” he says, and his voice is shaking and wet.  “It – it _hurt_.”

            “Shh, I know,” she says.  “It’s OK now.  It’s all over now.”

            “I wanted it to stop so much,” he said, “a-and then I just wanted a break.  I just wanted a break.  It was so bad.  It feels like she’s stabbing me with a knife.  I know it’s just a little needle but it always hurts so much.”

            “You’re so brave,” she says, “you did so well.  I can’t imagine, Barry.  It’s all over now though.”

            He keeps crying for a while and she holds him until he’s done.  He sniffs, and when he’s been silent for a while she leans back a little bit, just enough to look at him.  His eyes meet hers slowly.

            “Hey,” she says, and her fingers run through his hair, over the back of his head.

            He tries to smile.

            “I love you,” he says.  “Thank you.”

            She shakes her head.  “I love you too.”

            They sit there looking at each other for a long moment.  “Would you watch a movie with me?” he asks.

            She smiles at him.  “When have I ever said no to that?”

            And he finally smiles a real smile.  “When I asked you to marathon Lord of the Rings with me.”

            “No, I said no when you asked me to marathon Lord of the Rings with you the _fourth time_.”

            He laughs, and she’s not sure if it’s pretend or not, but she knows it doesn’t matter.  He’s healing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment and let me know what you thought of this - I really appreciate it!


End file.
